Nerves
by Actual Trash Prince
Summary: All they ever do is fight.


**1980  
Freshman Year**

"Who the fuck calls their kid 'Goodman'?" Lambchops's contempt wasn't subtle, it was thick in her voice, loud enough to be heard across the room where she was tapping a staccato beat against her thigh. Goody wrinkled his nose, cringing at the sound of his own name as he continued to fiddle with his trumpet, resolutely _not_ looking at her.

"Lambchops, your best friend is named 'Schlomo'." Carmen's voice was somewhat quieter as she elbows the drummer in the ribs, but she had caught on to Lambchops's scheme and so she too was heard by the trumpet player. Lambchops chuckled fondly, a much softer sound than she usually made, and it was vaguely unsettling to hear.

"Yeah, but that's not his fault, his whole family's got crazy pronunciations left, right and centre." Lambchops declared, shrugging, her gaze softening from where she had been glaring at Goody to cast a long suffering but affectionate glance to the pianist. "Look at his last name-"

"Metzenbaum?" Mabel asked between bites of her sandwich, cutting the drummer's rant of as she absentmindedly swung her legs. Lambchops waved her away but resumed the tapping on her tartan tights.

"Whatever, the point is, that's just... Schlomo." She rolled her eyes, her soft voice turning harsh as she snorted out a laugh, her thick, Brooklyn accent rising in volume as her made an effort to catch the attention of the boys by the piano in the off chance that they hadn't already been listening. "I mean, Goodman King? The boy's straight up cursed." Goody couldn't stand it anymore, huffing out a sigh and clenching his jaw as he looked up to glare at Lambchops across the classroom. He was caught off guard by the fact that she was looking right back at him, bright red lips pulled back into a dangerous smirk, all sharp teeth and lingering danger. There was a glint in her eyes that he couldn't understand, something playful almost, it vanished as she raised one eyebrow at him, challengingly. Their staring contest lasted mere moments, tension in the room rising before Goody's frown deepened and he dropped his gaze.

"How are you even friends with her?" He hissed to Schlomo, who he was sharing the piano stool with. The boy in question was playing the piano distractedly, frowning at every missed note and trying his hardest to look like he was ignoring everything around him. He hummed in question, turning to look over his shoulder at the trumpet player who scowled darkly. "Don't play dumb, I know you can hear her, _everyone_ can hear her."

"That's just how she is, she doesn't know the meaning of the word subtle." Schlomo offered, mostly amused but still vaguely exasperated, as if Lambchops had chased off many other potential friend before the unfortunately named trumpeter.

"Are you saying she just... doesn't get any better to be around?" Goody couldn't help but groan in frustration and bury his head in his hands at the thought. Schlomo gave Lambchops a wry smile over his slumped-over bandmate and she rolled her eyes in return, her voice having died down to chat normally with her friends.

"I'm saying you shouldn't have told her the drumsticks made you nervous. She's like a shark, she smells blood in the water." Schlomo said, clapping Goody on the shoulder in an _almost_ sympathetic manner.

Sitting up straight, Goody turned to Schlomo and frowned, "She had them pressed to my neck." He squawked, pressing the thumb of his free hand to his neck, goosebumps rising along his arms at the mere thought.

"You could have pushed her out of the way, you _are_ taller than her." Schlomo reminded him, his voice vaguely implying that it was Goody's fault that he was even in this mess. Or perhaps he was reading too much into things. Schlomo seemed to think so as he turned away, back to facing the piano and frowning at his sheet music.

"Why is she in our band again?" Goody asked, wearily, toying defeatedly with his trumpet and _not looking at Lambchops_. He wouldn't give her the satisfaction.

"Because, like it or not, she's a brilliant drummer." Schlomo's distracted answer and subsequent piano notes were a very clear and effective dismissal of Goody and the conversation at hand. It didn't mean Goody's mind would stop thinking about the conversation and about that lame, leather-jacket wearing drummer.

"She's a bitch." He says, almost to himself. If the band lasted more than a year, they were definitely getting a new drummer, no matter how good Schlomo claims she is.

 **1981**

 **Sophomore Year**

"That went so well!" Schlomo sounded almost incredulous as he and Carmen elatedly stumbled off stage at the conclusion of the fall festival, hand in hand. Carmen smiled brightly at him, eyes sparkling from the adrenaline still running through her veins. It was the same bright, enthusiastic smile that she had when she had kissed him that first time and Schlomo felt his mouth grow dry at the memory as the blood rushed to his cheeks. He pulled away from her even as she looked as though she were about to say something, partly from his own fear but mostly because of the loud arguing coming from the opposite end of the hall, which signalled that other two members of the band were approaching. Carmen closed her mouth sadly, her words remaining unspoken though she looked disappointed, but didn't mention it. She gave Schlomo a small, reserved smile, but went to change in the dressing room with the other dancers, saying farewell to the others. Neither the trumpeter nor the drummer responded, both in the middle of a heated discussion.

"You were way off the beat, it was embarrassing!" Lambchops' hands waved about, her drumsticks moving carelessly along with them. Goody flinched back before moving closer, straightening his back and crossing his arms to be as imposing as possible as he glared down at her.

"Hey, maybe you're the one off beat? Ever consider that?" He snapped. Lambchops laughed, loud and bitter, her voice going dangerously quiet as she looked up at him, nothing friendly about the sneer on her face.

"I play the drums. I _am_ the beat." She hissed, hands clenched into fists by her side, knuckles going white on her drumsticks.

"Not everything revolves around you, you know!" Goody growled, low and dangerous. Schlomo was practically powerless when it came to those two, hell, even Mr. Sheinkopf had difficulties getting them to listen, and that was when they _weren't_ fighting. Well, every teacher had difficulties getting Lambchops to do anything really.

"Well maybe if you paid a _little bit_ of attention to me, you would learn your fucking cues!" Schlomo snapped back into reality as Lambchops's voice broke into a yell once more. It had managed to catch the passing attention of both Iris and Tyrone at the end of the hall, both of whom took one look at the pair and shrugged, waving to Schlomo who waved weakly back.

"Listen here, _Grace –_ " Goody stood toe to with Lambchops who glared up at him, her lip curling into a vicious snarl as he spat her name. Schlomo knew he had to intervene soon, no-one _ever_ called Lambchops her first name except for teachers. One moment Lambchops's drumsticks were in her white knuckled grip by her side, the next they were pressed to Goody's throat as he glowered down at her.

"Alright, that's it, _Goodman_ , I'm going to shove these sticks so far up your ass –" Their faces were inches apart and the tips of the drumsticks were digging painfully into Goody's throat as Schlomo sprung into action.

"Whoa! OK, that's it!" He cried, wedging himself between them as shoving them apart. With each of them at arm's length he felt like he was holding two rabid wolves at bay. "Is this what we've become?" He cried, his gaze on the floor to avoid picking sides even in something as simple as a look. They weren't pushing to get at each other anymore, instead considering his words so he sighed, relaxing slightly, his grip on their shoulders loosening. "If all you do is fight, is the band even worth it?"

"Hey, no, come on, Schlomo! You can't say that." Lambchops, for what could possibly be the first time in her life, sounded quiet and regretful, his grip of her drumstick loose as her imploring gaze was focused on their piano player.

"What about you, Goody?" Schlomo asked, dropping his grip on Lambchops, satisfied that she wouldn't try to attack Goody again, turning to look at the trumpeter. Goody had stepped back enough to disconnect himself from Schlomo, his arms crossed as he looked anywhere but the two before him, something resembling guilt on his face.

"No, she's right." His words were met with shocked silence, an emotion that looked much more at home on the timid pianist's face than it did on the brash drummer's, and Goody rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably, "About the band… and the beat thing. I need to pay more attention." He admitted, half hoping that he hadn't said that out loud. However, it seemed that he had, because not a moment after his admission, Lambchops's trademark red lips split into a grin.

"Thanks, Goodman." Her voice was smug, but there was hints of genuine appreciation, enough to make Goody return the smile, even at the mention of his embarrassing first name.

"I've told you not to call me that." He told her, heading off in the direction of the dressing rooms, the other two following suite.

Lambchops gave him a wry smile and nudged his arm with hers. "Have I ever listened?"

 **1982**

 **Junior Year**

"See, no, Batman," Lambchops sat in Tyrone's basement with his head in her lap, absentmindedly carding her fingers through his hair as she examined the posters on the walls, one in particular catching her eye, "is just a sook with money." The steady pulse of rock music was comforting to the both of them as they had both grown up around it, and it created a pleasant backdrop for Tyrone's pretty party.

"Do you even know how wrong you are?" Tyrone asked, evidently offended on behalf of one of his favourite superheroes. He was just drunk enough that her company made him forget about Iris and how she wasn't speaking to him and Lambchops was just drunk enough that she didn't feel like teasing him about it. _This is why people don't like you_. It wasn't her voice in the back of her head, it was Goody's, a well worn argument between them which had her scowling at the thought.

"And it's a good thing he has all that money or else the city would be paying millions every week-" Lambchops tried not to let herself become distracted, trying to dredge up any comic book facts that she could recount.

"Bruce Wayne doesn't pay for it." Tyrone cut her off, sounding both defensive and confused, considering her point in the pointless argument.

"Are you kidding me? It would probably cost less to throw hundred dollar bills from a blimp than to be Batman, and cause so much less damage." She exclaimed, throwing her hands up in the air. She forced all other thoughts from her mind and focused on the fact that objectively speaking, Batman was a terrible superhero. Which he was. She was always right.

"When have you ever cared about property damage?" A familiar voice snorted from beside them and the sofa shifted as Goody sat gingerly on the arm of the two-person sofa. Lambchops elbowed him, but he didn't budge.

"Oh my God, Goodman, don't go all ' _upstanding citizen_ ' on me." She snorted, trying not to let him get to her. It was a good night and friends were good… Were they even friends? They had spent enough time together, but all they ever did was fight.

"No part of me is upstanding around you." He sneered, smirk on his face. Lambchops pressed her lips together, cheeks burning. Tyrone roared with laughter right up until she shoved him unceremoniously from both her lap, and the couch. Goody slid fluidly into the seat beside her, causing the dancer to grumble and take his seat on the arm. "Anyways," Goody continued as if nothing had happened "if Batman wasn't there, supervillains could easily take over Gotham."

Lambchops was silent, staring down at her hands as she considered his words. She didn't need to turn and look to know he was smirking at her, slouching in his seat with a practiced ease that only came from familiarity with those around him. She looked up suddenly, not at him or Tyrone, nor the Batman poster that had started the discussion, but out into the crowd of teenagers gathered in Tyrone's basement. "Schlomo!" She called, to which the pianist looked up from his conversation with Carmen and Mabel by the stereo. "Come over here and tell Goodman he's wrong." She told him, her tone clipped and demanding. He excused himself from the girls as he made his way over to the group on the couch, beer in one hand, the other in his pocket, squinting suspiciously at the drummer.

"No..." He said, slowly, looking from the tipsy Tyrone perched on the arm of the couch, to the disgruntled Lambchops and smug Goody. He wasn't certain what had happened, but he had learned his lesson about agreeing with Lambchops on a whim, and would never make that mistake again.

"Fuck you guys, I'm going to see if Joe wants to get high and throw things at cars." Lambchops muttered bitterly, pushing herself from the couch and throwing a glare at Schlomo, who raises his hands in submission. It comes as a surprise when Goody catches her hand, holding her back.

"Grace, that's a bad idea. You could cause something or _someone_ real damage." He told her. Lambchops's face twisted into a sneer as she looked at him, hiding the shock that his concern brought out in her. People weren't usually concerned for her, she was Lambchops, everyone expected her to get hurt somehow anyways.

"When have I ever cared about property damage?" She asked, mock innocent as she parroted his words back at him. He feels his chest grow tighter as he watched as she weaved through the crowed to find their Spanish friend. It wasn't a new feeling but he didn't particularly want to figure out it's origins. Some things are just too… complicated.

( _He's glad that the next morning neither her nor Joe remembers him finding them, wasted as all hell and making out on Tyrone's doorstep. Neither of them remembers Goody punching Joe with Lambchops watching on, her pupils blown wide and bright red lipstick smeared. Perhaps its for the best._ )

 **1983**

 **Senior Year**

"I can't believe it's our last gig." Lambchops's voice is almost wistfully as she taps the snare drum absent mindedly. For the third year in a row, the band with their alternative music style had been selected for the school's talent show, and despite Carmen's absence, they were still eager to perform. Well, Lambchops and Goody were eager; Schlomo hadn't been the same since Carmen left.

"You deserve a medal!" Goody's voice was dripping with sarcasm and fake enthusiasm as he adjusted the stage microphones. Their banter was so conversational that he didn't even look up from his job. "You haven't impaled anyone with those sticks of yours." He elaborated, his voice still faux peppy.

"There's still time if you're offering." Lambchops's scathing retort was punctuated by a tap of the symbol, to emphasise her point, but she was still staring off into space as she said it, her eyes glassy and unfocused.

"Keep those damn things away from me." Goody grunted, switching his position on the floor so his legs didn't fall asleep. He clenched his jaw almost involuntarily as a few of her choice threats surfaced in his memory.

"Why? They still make you nervous?" Lambchops smirked, her gaze slowly sliding to the trumpeter as she twirled the drumsticks in her hands, almost as if she could read his mind.

"God damn it, Grace that was four years ago." Goody groaned, finally looking away from his work over to the drummer, who had decided to leap from her seat and stalk over to him, glaring vehemently.

"And you're still a whiny, little bitch, Goodman. What've I told you about calling me Grace?" She glowered, but he noticed she had left her drumsticks over by the drumkit and Goody rolled his eyes, getting to his feet. She wasn't deterred, even though there the height difference between them had grown larger as he had and she had stayed roughly the same height.

"That you'll unleash unspeakable horrors on me with your drumsticks, yeah, I get it, I've heard it all before." He sighed, leaning down to be at eye level with her. "So what are you going to do, _Grace_?" He taunted, smirk on his lips. Lambchops looked speculative now that she was given an opportunity, her eyes giving him the most cursory of assessments, sizing him up. It was just moments before her gaze locked with his and she tugged on the collar of his t-shirt, pulling him down to press her lips to his. "Finally." He breathed, kissing her back, his hands holding her tighter and pulling her closer.

"Fuck you." She mumbled against his lips, though she was smiling, her eyes closed as she threaded her fingers through his hair. Goody broke the kiss off, giving Lambchops enough time to look confused before he wiggled his eyebrows at her pulled her into another kiss. There was a loud cough from the audience and the two of them stumbled away from one another as if they had been electrocuted. There, standing just in front of the stage, was an amused Schlomo grinning at them, hands in his pockets as he looked from one to the other, while Joe waited beside him, frowning at the pair in front of him.

"Oh no, don't let me stop you." Schlomo told them loftily. Lambchops scowled at him, aware of the blush across her cheeks as Goody tried to quickly scrub her bright red lipstick from his lips. Joe looked rather bitter and Goody's mind briefly flashed to that night last year, and wondered if there had been more between Lambchops and the actor.

"You guys couldn't have waited two months until we graduated?" Joe cried, pulling his wallet from his pocket with a flourish, quickly dispelling any thoughts about his possible relationship with Lambchops as soon as he began passing bills to Schlomo. Joe trudged up the stairs to the stage, grumbling something about two hundred dollars as he began mic checks, leaving Lambchops and Goody standing awkwardly a foot away from one another. Schlomo looked from one to the other, still grinning like the cat that got the cream in the moment of awkwardness, before his gaze flicked to the stage door.

"Dressing rooms are that way." He nodded in the direction of the exit and it only took a moment for Lambchops to turn on her heel, snagging Goody's hand as she made a beeline for _anywhere without people;_ the dressing rooms would do. Schlomo's laughter followed them as they left and they knew that he'd tease them non-stop for the remainder of the school year, especially after everything that had happened between them. Apparently even _Schlomo_ could see it coming. Right now, that didn't matter, with her hands in Goody's hair as he pulled her closer, nothing else mattered.

"Why did we wait this long?" Lambchops mumbled as Goody kissed along her jawline.

"Because we hate each other." The words slipped from Goody's mouth and Lambchops pulled back, looking hurt as she ran her thumb over his lips where her bright red lipstick shone in the dim light of the dressing room. Goody broke into a grin, the one that crinkled his eyes and made him look almost devious as he kissed her thumb and then pulled her back in for a kiss.

"So did everyone think we were flirting?" Lambchops asked, frowning. Goody snorted.

"Aparently." He looked almost sheepish, "Maybe it was, a little bit." Lambchops grinned back, he was _actually_ blushing, she felt a warm rush of affection for him and kissed him softly.

"Maybe we just can't flirt like normal people." She grinned back at him. Everything, their school, their friends, their lives, were changing, but that was OK; they had each other. Some things can stand even the test of time.


End file.
